


The Red Wolf

by rawrkinjd



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29537676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/pseuds/rawrkinjd
Summary: This idea has already been done a hundred times (probably), but I love it and wanted to do my own spin. Lambert is gross. He stinks to high heaven. Aiden loves the bloke, but he can’t even stand to kiss him. The reason for Lambert’s lack of personal hygiene becomes clear when they work together on a contract. Warnings: mention of canon child abuse (not graphic); self conscious Lambert; adoring Aiden.Dedicated to and inspired by@cylin-aka-ankamo’sbeautiful, red-headed Lambert.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 136





	The Red Wolf

Lambert’s hair was disgusting. 

He slicked it back with a combination of beeswax and tallow, and it was the one thing that had stopped Aiden making his move. The sticky, coagulated mess that kept his hair plastered back over his scalp, attracting insects and general woodland debris, made him feel a bit ill. In fact, the vast majority of the time Lambert smelled worse than the ass-end of an… ass, the bottom of a fisherman’s catch barrel and a selkie maw’s intestine combined. And the ratty bastard prided himself on it too. He took glee in the disgusted looks, the wrinkled noses of the peasantry— 

_Yes._ Shit-wallowing peasants thought Lambert smelled bad. The fact that Aiden could stand to be within five metres of him at any given time was a miracle. Perhaps he was nose blind to it, because he just couldn’t resist that first embrace whenever they met. Lambert’s humour, his cheeky grin, his keen intelligence. _It was Aiden’s undoing._

He longed to kiss those beautiful lips. Because they were stunning. He’d never seen a finer set anywhere; it was like cupid’s bow had been carefully fashioned onto the man’s face at birth and then left there to be guarded by a god-awful stench. Only the bravest dare got close. And Aiden had got close. _Oh yes, so close._ With enough ale in his system, he could almost bring himself to— _but no._ The bastard needed a good scrub.

They always seemed to avoid it though. _Not enough money. I’ve got to head south. That waterfall definitely has leeches in it. I’m not getting my ass out in Oxenfurt; that’s just asking for trouble._ The excuses went on, and on, and on.

It was another contract like any other. A koshchey ‘guarding’ an important mountain pass just outside Belhaven. The town relied on its ore and mining exports for survival, so the beast had to go. They tracked it down to a riverbank. A dose of Cat and Blizzard apiece was enough to cut it down to size, but in its final death throes it landed a lucky glancing blow on Lambert, sending him careening into the river.

With the corpse in his wake, Aiden sprinted to the edge of the water. “Lambert!” He didn’t see the extent of the injury; his heart sat high in his throat as he stared into the murky depths…

“Fucking—bastard—fuck,” Lambert seethed as he burst to the surface. He grabbed two gloved handfuls of reedy grass to haul himself out, blinking through the mess running down his face. Once he’d rubbed his knuckles through his eyes and made it worse, he squinted at Aiden.

Aiden, who was staring at him with a slack jaw.

“Lambert, your hair…” Aiden whispered, voice taut with awe. Because Lambert’s impromptu dip in the river had rinsed the self-mixed pomade from his head, taking the black dye and other unpleasantries with it, and left behind the first signs of a fiery red mane of hair. Even through the greyish sludge, Aiden knew its colour would rival the plush fur of the handsomest fox; the dancing flames of Beltane; the—

Lambert scrambled to his feet and covered his head with his hands. He looked horrified. Sunstone eyes blown wide in genuine fear as he ran from the clearing towards their packs. The Cat began to run after him, swore, and then backtracked briefly to slash the head off their contracted kill. It was a hefty prize, and by the time he arrived back to their clearing a mile away, Lambert had already pulled his cloak over his head.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Aiden dumped his gorey package by the saddled horse they’d brought with them to carry it.

“Don’t look,” Lambert growled in warning. “Forget what you saw.”

“Forget what I saw—?” Aiden almost laughed. His huff of amusement only made it worse though, because Lambert bunched up and turned his face away. When Aiden approached, he refused to look up. “Come on, don’t do that—Lambert, Lam—.” They flapped at each other with open palms, Aiden was pretty sure Lambert threw a right hook, but he was going to let that go. A low shoulder tackle brought the wolf to the floor, and Aiden straddled his chest, forcing his hood back.

“Bastard, let me up!” Lambert seethed, thrashing his heels into the dirt.

“Trust me, I want to be here about as much as you do, you smell only slightly better than a sewer,” Aiden spoke softly as he inspected Lambert’s hair. _Yes._ It was a brilliant red; his beard too now that more of the… sludgy crap he used in it had washed away. “Is… is this why you never wash?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Lambert averted his eyes.

“Try me.”

“Get—the fuck—off, and I’ll tell you.”

“You gonna’ run like a little bitch?”

Lambert clenched his teeth, lower lip jutted. Now he definitely wouldn’t, because having a Cat call him a little bitch was a step too far. “Call me a little bitch again and you’ll be the one running.”

Aiden opened his mouth, but clamped it shut just as quickly. There were more important things at stake than having the last word. He moved aside slowly and allowed Lambert to sit up, only intervening to slap his hand away when the wolf reached for his cloak again. “I want to look.”

“Oh, great,” Lambert grunted. “Freakshow all over again.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His face tilted away, gloved fingers rubbing through the mess on the side of his head and—to Aiden’s utter delight—revealing more of those beautiful red locks. “It was another thing for him to beat me for,” Lambert grumbled, finally. “Neither of my parents had red hair, so he just assumed mum fucked some other bloke and I was the product of that. Didn’t matter that she was pretty much under house arrest all the time. She must’ve found a way.”

“Ahh, fuck,” Aiden’s shoulders sagged.

“Yeah, ahh, fuck,” Lambert huffed. “Then when I joined Murder School, the other little darlings thought it was hilarious. Called me a Skelligen bastard, amongst lots of other creative little pet names. So, I—I fuckin’ started… experimenting. Worked out how to dye it, keep it slicked back. Only problem is,” he threw his hands up, “water, and it’s a pain in the ass to get all the ingredients.”

“Lambert, it’s—,” Aiden lifted a hand and hesitated when Lambert flinched away from him; he felt vulnerable. This was a side of him, no matter how innocuous to someone else, that he found difficult to show. Aiden brushed his fingers through the hair behind Lambert’s ear, smoothing away more of the grey sludge until one strand caught the light; a flash of fire and heat that he could almost feel beneath his fingertips. His heart skipped a beat, “it’s beautiful.”

“Don’t be so stupid,” Lambert batted his hands away irritably. “It’s just another thing for people to stare at.”

“People stare at us anyway, wolf,” Aiden sighed. “Doesn’t matter what colour your hair is. Wouldn’t you like to smell half decent? Enjoy a bath? Wouldn’t you like to kiss—,” he snapped his mouth shut, before quickly moving on. “There’s an inn just down the road, we could get a laundry basin, and—.”

“No, no, what was that?” Lambert looked at him suddenly.

“A laundry basin?”

“Before that.”

“Smelling half decent?”

“No, after that.”

“Bath?”

 _“Aiden.”_ Lambert growled, impatient.

Witchers didn’t blush, dear reader, so there was definitely a nefarious reason for the red tinge that flushed up Aiden’s neck to the very tips of his ears; he’d have to investigate it later. “I’ve… uh, I’d like to kiss you, have… uh, for a while, amongst other things,” Aiden raised an eyebrow, gaze still averted. “But I have a sensitive sense of smell, and you fucking _reek_.”

“And if I bathed, you’d kiss me?”

“Well, yeah. And I’d run my fingers through your hair and…” Aiden trailed off, his eyes wide, almost dreamy.

Lambert uncurled to his feet and snatched his cloak. “Come on.”

“What?” Aiden blinked, staggering to his feet more out of reflex than intent. “Where’re we going?”

“For a bath,” Lambert grabbed the koshchey head and shoved it onto the horse’s saddle; the poor animal wobbled a little under the abrupt addition of extra weight. The reason for this sudden zealous pursuit of personal hygiene after many years of fetid squalor wasn’t lost on Aiden, and he grinned the whole damned way to the inn.

Yes, to a bath!

_And a kiss._


End file.
